Logistics in Reasoning
by Emerson M
Summary: Annie rounds on me. Her eyes are dark, her face is flushed, and her hair is somewhat disarrayed. She pummels her fists into my chest.


_AN - This is meant to only be a one shot, but we'll see how I feel later. Enjoy!_

* * *

Annie rounds on me. Her eyes are dark, her face is flushed, and her hair is somewhat disarrayed. She pummels her fists into my chest.

"You! Are! The! Worst!"

Her voice is slightly higher than normal.

I don't know why she's hitting me. I don't know why I'm the worst.

But it still hurts.

I want to grab her arms and shake her. I want to shout back at her - What's wrong with you? Why can't you see how much I care about you? Why can't you see how much your words hurt me?

Because even though her fists hurt, her words hurt more.

But I don't do it.

I just stand there, my expression still. I tense my shoulders and brace my chest for her punches. Her blows keep coming. She's stronger than she looks; I know I'll have bruises tomorrow.

I can see tears rolling down her cheeks.

I want to wrap her up into my arms. I want to squeeze her until she stops. I want to wipe the tears from her eyes and hold her close to me. So close that I can feel her heart beat against my chest and her heavy breathing tickle my skin through my shirt.

But I don't do that either.

I just stand there - still and stoic.

Annie pulls back. She's shaking as she stares at me.

"What's wrong with you?"

She spits the words at me. And I can see that she's struggling to breathe evenly.

I think it's a rhetorical question, so I don't answer.

I see her clench her jaw before she turns around and walks away. I stand there as her bedroom door slams, unable to move. I stand there for five minutes, unsure of what else to do.

"…Annie?" I call out tentatively.

There's no response from behind her door.

I breathe in deeply and slowly loosen my muscles. I walk over and stop at her door. I place the palm of my hand against the wood, wishing that it wasn't there.

"Annie?" I call again, firmer this time.

There's still no answer.

"Annie…I'm sorry."

I speak quietly and I'm not sure if she hears me. I don't know what I'm sorry for, but I don't want her to be angry anymore, so I say it anyway. I sigh and turn away from the wall that separates us.

I sit at the table and wait. I wait until I fall asleep - my head slouches onto my arms, and I'm gone.

* * *

I wake up to the sharp glare of the sun through the window. I'd forgotten to close the curtains before I fell asleep. As I raise my head, I feel a sharp pain in my neck. I roll it back and forth, trying to stretch out all of the kinks.

I look at my watch. 7:15am. Had I really spent the night asleep at the dining room table? I rub my fingers across my eyes, still bleary from sleep.

Then it hits me.

Annie.

Everything floods back. Her tears across her cheeks. Her fists against my chest. I feel just as confused as I did last night. Except, now I feel kind of queasy. And my head hurts. And my chest stings. And I still don't know what's wrong with Annie.

I stand up, breathing in deeply to steady myself.

Her door is slightly ajar and I rap my knuckles against it gently. I freeze and consider the fact that she might still be asleep. Neither of us have Friday classes. I push the door open instead. Light floods through the room and outlines her figure curled up on her bed.

The moment I see her I know she's awake.

I see her body tense up as I step nearer. Her eyes are clamped shut tightly and she's biting her lip. I hear a sharp intake of breath. I stand over her, unsure of what to do. We could just stay like this, until one of us breaks - either she'll open her eyes, or I'll leave.

But I don't want to wait.

"I know you're awake."

I try to make my voice sound soft and gentle. Reassuring. I want to convince her to open her eyes. But my voice sounds the way it always does. Hard. Cold. And it doesn't work, her eyes stay glued shut.

I pull myself down to sit on the floor, leaning against the side of her bed.

"I'm not leaving."

I feel odd, like everything is backwards. Usually, Annie's the one who is trying to connect with me, not the other way around. I'm struggling to be strong, not to break down, to be like her. To connect.

"I don't know what I did." She still doesn't respond, so I continue cautiously. "I'm…I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Her eyes flash open.

"Annie?"

"I don't want to talk to you."

Her voice sounds wrong. Strained, almost broken. Did I do that to her?

"I could be some one else."

She sits up. I think she's angry again.

"Could you just stop with the movies and tv….and - uggggh!"

Annie turns her head to the side and tries to blink back the tears.

"I could be Troy, he's good at fixing things. Or Jeff - " But she cuts me off before I can finish.

"You don't understand anything!"

"I understand lots of things."

She's standing now, so I get up too. I feel like we're facing off. Like wolves, circling each other, waiting to attack.

I hear the front door squeak open, and I turn my gaze out into the hall. It's Troy. He's tiptoeing across the floor, hoping we won't notice him.

"Hi," I say.

"Ummmm…." Troy's eyes widen as he takes in the scene in front of him. "I have dance class at nine, and I need to grab my tap shoes…"

"Where were you last night?" I ask.

"Britta's, " He manages to squeak out. "She said you'd be done by now, so…Shit! I shouldn't have said that! I gotta go…"

He runs to get his shoes and then slams the front door, leaving us alone again. I turn to Annie. I'm looking down on her and she seems really small. But her expression is fierce, ready to fight.

"Britta knows about this?" I gesture my hand around the space between us.

Annie breathes in deeply, like she's readying herself to confront me. "She told me about how you've been manipulating me."

I'm confused. I don't understand.

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have!" She's looking directly at me, her eyes are boring into mine. I take a step back. "You've been trying to control me! You've been trying to push me into a relationship with Jeff!"

"Oh."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Britta wasn't suppose to tell you. I didn't even mean to tell her. It was during one of our therapy sessions, I don't know how she got it out of me."

"As soon as she said it, I knew it was true! It all made sense!" She emphasizes her points with wild hand gestures, and I worry that she'll hit me again. "Why do you do this? I thought we were suppose to be friends!"

"We are friends!' I say indignantly, my voice stronger and louder than before.

"Then what's wrong with you? Haven't your stupid movies taught you anything? Friends don't act like that!" She gets closer with each sentence. "They respect each other, they support each other's decisions! They don't do this!"

She's backed me up against the wall and beside my head there's a framed certificate for the Dean's List.

"I've spent a long time trying to be independent! Trying to not be controlled by my peers, by my parents, by Adderall! I'm not going to let myself be controlled by you! And if this how you think friends act, than maybe I can't do it anymore."

I flinch.

We both stand there, a few inches apart, letting her words sink in. I feel like they're burrowing into my skin, taking over my body. I want to shut down. I want to hide away inside my head. I want to deal with these emotions, privately. But I can't. I can't push her away, or I'll lose her. I won't let that happen. I need to stay present.

But I don't know what to say to her. I have no idea how change her mind.

She speaks first, "Can you please leave?"

"No!"

I clumsily reach for her, wrapping my fingers around her wrists. I can hear my voice crack as I struggle to form the syllables. "I can't lose you."

Her eyes are closed, as if she's trying to shut out my words. But she doesn't pull away from me. I think that's a good sign.

"I'm sorry, Annie. I really am. I just…I don't know what else to do."

"You can't keep doing this. I'm not a puppet for you to mold my life into some plot of some movie."

"I know."

"Then what are you doing?"

I tilt my head to the side as I examine her. She doesn't look like Annie. She looks distraught and sad. She looks injured. I feel broken as I look at her. It hurts to know that I did this.

"You'd be happier with Jeff."

"So, this is about Jeff?"

"I just want you to be happy."

"I am," she tells me. "I'm happy the way things are, being friends with Jeff, with all of you."

I shake my head. "Statistically speaking, you're the one Jeff is suppose to end up with. Not Slater. Not Britta. I used to think it was her, but now I know it's not. I've accepted the fact that it's you, and you should too."

"What do you mean you've accepted it?"

I don't say anything and neither does she. We stand in silence for a few minutes until she continues. "I'm not a statistic, Abed. And don't I get a say in this? What if I don't want to be with Jeff? I already told you that I don't love him."

"You didn't mean it. You're not a very good liar, Annie."

"I wasn't lying."

Something inside of my stomach flutters at her words. Her eyes are on mine, and I think I see them widen slightly. It's the looks she gets when she knows something. But I'm not sure if I'm ready for her to know.

"Why are you trying to convince yourself that I belong with Jeff?"

I feel hot all of the sudden. Uncomfortable. This is not where I wanted this conversation to end up. She should be the one, unsure of what to say, as I inform her of who she really is and what she really wants. It shouldn't be like this. I stop myself. I try to shut off my brain, because I'm doing it again. Trying to control her.

Her eyes don't leave my face, and I struggle to find somewhere else to look. I glance at her floral bedspread. Then at the photos on her dresser. Her lamp. Her clock. Her cardigan thrown over the foot of her bed.

"Abed?" she asks again.

"Because it'll be easier."

"Than what?"

I lean down until our foreheads are touching. I feel her breath against my skin. "This."

She makes a noise that sounds almost like a squeak. But she doesn't move, her forehead still leans against mine.

"I feel so confused, Annie."

My fingers leave her wrists and trace their way up her arms. I rest them on her shoulders, where I can feel the movement of her body as she breathes deeply. I let my fingertips skim over her soft skin.

"You make me feel so much."

"Isn't that good?" she asks me.

"No." I back away suddenly, but I'm already cornered against the wall and I have nowhere else to go. "Because we're not right. I'm not right. For you."

"You should let me decide that."

"But you need some one who can be there for you, emotionally and physically. You need some one who is real, not fake."

"Abed." Her face is sad as she steps closer to me. There's barely any space between us now.

"The only way that I know how to be there for you, is if I pretend to be some one else. And I can't do that for the rest of my life, Annie."

She presses her body against mine, arms encasing me. "You're not pretending right now," she mumbles into my chest.

I winch.

Annie notices and backs away. She gives me a questioning look.

I look down as I say it, not wanting to see her face. "I have bruises."

"Oh!" Annie gasps. "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay."

"No, I should never have hit you."

Annie reaches for me, pulling my shirt up so that she can see my chest. She runs her fingertips lightly over the patches of blue and yellow. Her touch hurts, but her hands are soft. My breathing is ragged and uneven.

I push her hands away and hastily pull down my shirt.

"I...I should go," I struggle to find words. "I didn't sleep very well."

"Neither did I."

I turn to leave, but she grabs my arm, stopping me. I turn again, to look at her this time. Her face is inviting, pleading almost.

"Stay," she whispers.

I can't bring myself to say no.

"I'll fall asleep faster if you stay." And she's pulling me towards her bed. She pushes away the covers and climbs in, leaving me the left side.

We lay there, facing each other. Our bodies aren't touching, but my heart is still beating out of my ribcage. She smiles at me sweetly before closing her eyes. It would be nice, I think, to stay like this forever. I mirror her expression - eyes closed, smile on my lips


End file.
